The Treaty
by Ukaisha
Summary: Pete and Mike arrange a meeting to discuss the fate of their favorite hang-out, the Village Inn. (Oneshot, non-romantic, concrit plz)


A/N: I've become unnaturally obsessed with Pike lately (Pete/Mike) so fanfiction time.  
Just General interaction, no romance or anything special really.  
Nice short quick story.  
More to come if I continue crying over Pike like I am.

* * *

The Treaty

Pete ripped the corner of the last pink sugar packet on the table and poured it into his coffee. His mug was surrounded with the carnation pink sugar wrappers, for he'd been occupying the little round table outside the cafe for a little over half an hour, and he'd gone through three cups of coffee and two cigarettes in the mean time. He liked his coffee cloyingly sweet.

The coffee shop, Harbucks, had expanded with a small outside cafe for the warmer summer months. This was good news for Pete, who needed to smoke while he drank his coffee, but it was by no means perfect. The sunlight was harsh on his sensitive eyes, and the chatter in the background was riotous and gave him a head ache.  
Granted, the coffee was better than the sludge he usually drank, but it definitely wasn't his type of hang-out joint, especially without the others to bitch with him about how shitty the whole excursion was and how much they'd rather be somewhere else.

But, he was waiting to meet someone here, and if the matter hadn't been so important he might not have bothered.  
Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, Pete glanced at his phone and gently tapped it to check the time.  
He was almost twenty minutes late.  
Exhaling the acrid smoke, Pete nodded his long fringe out of his eyes and tapped out a message to a contact labeled "Count Fagula."  
_You better show up, poser._

He had no sooner tapped the "Send" button when a sudden black figure weaving through the tables caught his eye. Sure enough, when he glanced up, Mike Makowski was heading directly for him, his high-collar jacket pulled up over his face as though he too found the intense sunlight bothersome.  
When he caught Pete's eye, he gave him a toothy smile, the plastic fangs unnaturally white even against his pale skin, and Pete responded by rolling his eyes and sighing.  
Mike bowed shortly when he reached the table, and he said, "I'm relieved to find you still waiting for me, brother of darkness."  
"Yeah, whatever Mike." Perfunctorily, Pete gestured at the empty seat across from him. "Sit down."  
Though he did in fact pull out the chair to seat himself, Mike said testily, "I prefer to be called by my proper name, Vampir, even outside the company of my minions."  
"Okay, _Mike_," Pete acknowledged in an even tone. "Why are you so late, _Mike_?"  
"My parental guardians required me to finish my mortal chores before allowing me to escape," Mike huffed. "As a dark lord I could have disobeyed them, of course, but as my mother figure was responsible for driving me here today, per se..."  
Pete just scoffed and puffed at his cigarette. Mike seemed displeased.  
"Do you have to smoke here?" he asked, his pompously formal tone suddenly diminishing a bit. "It really stinks."  
"Deal with it," Pete said, apathetic. He was, however, considerate enough to exhale the smoke away from Mike. "You're only going to be here for a few minutes, anyway."  
"Ah, yes. You said you had a matter of utmost importance to discuss with me..."

The matter of utmost importance was put on hold as Annie Faulk, a curly-haired blonde girl Pete vaguely recognized from the other fourth grade class, arrived to take Mike's order and ask if Pete wanted a refill, which, of course, he did.  
As Pete sucked down the last of his coffee, Mike put on what he seemed to think was irresistible charm.

"Good afternoon my fair-haired maiden," he greeted in a whisper. He rest his chin on the tips of his knuckles, propping himself up on the table.  
"Hi," she said distractedly. She was folding over sheets of paper in a little notebook, and then she poised a pen over it. "What can I get for you today?"  
"Thou ist so kind to ask," Mike said sincerely. "For today is fleeting and fragile and somehow perfused with a certain sense of finiteness, per se. And it is with my most humble thanks that I look upon you and confess that I am grateful you are willing to take the time to simply ask."  
Mike was flashing her a dazzling fanged smile, but she didn't seem to be falling for it.  
"What do you want?" she said bluntly.  
Pete snorted into his cup and polished off his coffee.  
Mike seemed a bit put off, but he said, "Organic Chai Rooibos, no sugar please."

After she had written this down and turned away, Mike instead directed a less glamorous, pitying smile at Pete. "Poor thing," he said sadly. "She's intimidated by what she doesn't understand."  
Pete's returning stony glare was unsympathetic, and he largely ignored the comment. "What's a douchebag of the night doing drinking tea?" he asked dryly. "All out of Clamato juice?"  
Mike laced his fingers and rest his chin on top of them, still flashing his fangs charmingly. "I wouldn't expect a mere mortal to understand, but for a vampire living in the society of the living, one must adapt to their social norms, per se. It's suspicious for me to drink blood in public, so I've learned to ingest some human foods to pass off as a flesh and blood creature, per se."  
"Whatever you say, Nosfagratu."

Annie returned in short notice with a coffee refill for Pete and a pretty china cup and saucer with a bag soaking in reddish tea for Mike.  
"Ah," he said gratefully as he received the cup and saucer from her. "May I extend my most humble thanks to the servant of the coffee house for this sweet smelling tea."  
Annie, who appeared to have gone temporarily deaf, spun around and walked away without acknowledging him.

Slightly put off again, Mike sighed and began unceremoniously bouncing his teabag in the cup. "So what did you want, anyway?" he asked, dropping all pretense and formality. "Your kind don't like me and my kind don't like you; I thought we'd made that pretty clear."  
"This isn't about who hates who at this point, alright? This is about something that affects all of us." As he spoke, Pete drew a several canary yellow packets of sugar onto the table and began ripping them open and pouring them into the cup, one by one.  
"If this is so important, why didn't your head Goth call a meeting to speak with me instead of sending one of his minions?"

Pete's resulting glare was so bitter and scornful that Mike wound up very slowly, very intricately wrapping his teabag around his spoon to avoid having to look at him. "We don't have a head Goth," Pete said slowly. "We do whatever the fuck we want. It's just that the others don't have the motivation to do anything about it. To them it's just shitty circumstance and conformist propaganda."  
"I see," said Mike, and he took a delicate sip of his tea.  
"Are you not even putting sugar in that stuff?" asked Pete as he poured a fourth packet into his own beverage.  
Mike's tone was suddenly formal again. "A dark soul as mine embraces the bitterness of life as an extension of the bitterness of the inner soul, per se. Covering up that bitterness with sweetness is-" he sent a disdainful glare at the dozen or so used sugar packets littering the table around Pete's cup. "-distasteful," he finished.  
Very purposely, Pete ripped off the top of a fifth packet, and poured it into the cup, tapping the empty packet to coerce every grain out of it, and then he flicked it onto the table with the rest. Then, he slowly stirred the coffee and stared directly at Mike, as if daring for him to criticize.  
He didn't; unfussed, he elegantly sipped his tea again.

"I think I can discern what it is you're upset about, per se," Mike said as he placed the cup back onto the saucer.  
"Really," said Pete wryly, and he dug his used cigarette butt into the ashtray on the table. "Do go on."  
"It's all this trouble about the Village Inn," he continued with a sigh. "It's a bad business. My minions aren't very happy about it themselves."  
"If your minions hadn't FLOODED the place every freaking day after school-"  
Mike hushed him with a wave of his finger, and he leaned back in his chair, resting his arm on the back. "If I recall, the reason the Village Inn banned everyone is because of the Goths, not the Vampires."  
"It's because those happy-go-lucky conformist corporate morons don't know the difference!" Pete retorted hotly. "We've been going to the Village Inn for WAY longer than you guys and we've never had a problem until now."  
"Well, you were never exactly very polite to the waitress there," Mike replied.  
"Because that prejudiced bitch was always making digs at us for just ordering coffee. It wasn't a rule that we had to get food when we went there, but she always bitched at us for it anyway."  
"It's because you took up one of her tables all night and made her lose money. At least my minions were polite and got food now and then. Even if they couldn't eat it, of course," he added hurriedly.  
Pete just scoffed and shook his head, and then he took a long draw from his mug. Mike, likewise, took a small sip of tea.

"Look," Pete said when they both finished. "I'm not here to argue about whose fault it is. The point is that if Goths and Vampires banned from Village Inn, then that's a blow to all of us, and I don't know about you, but I need somewhere to go when I want to just sit around and drink coffee at three in the morning."  
"Speak for yourself," said Mike, again sounding disdainful. "Coffee at three in the morning? Do you even sleep, per se? No wonder you don't do well in school."

Pete was making every effort not to lose his temper. He kneaded his forehead with his fingers, gently, and he steadily blew out a frustrated sigh. "Okay, then I'm sure you and your little twihard fags just want somewhere to hang out after school. The Village Inn is cheap and close and convenient and it's somewhere that none of us can afford to lose as a hangout. Am I at least right on that?"  
"Oh, of course," Mike agreed. "That's why we're signing a petition with signatures from every Vampire kid in South Park. We'll agree that every person who attends will spend at least $5 on food or beverages, and we'll promise that none of us will be rowdy or obnoxious while we're there."  
"Do you really think signing a freaking piece of paper will get them to change their minds?" said Pete, snidely.  
"It might not," Mike admitted. "But it's certainly worth a shot."  
"It's a waste of time."

"It's better than sitting around and moaning about how unfair it is," Mike snapped.  
"Well, I'm here trying to do something about it, aren't it?"  
"Yeah, by yourself, because your so-called Goth friends couldn't be bothered."

Pete slammed his coffee down on the table enough to send droplets flying from the half-full mug and all over the sugar packets surrounding his side of the table. Mike visibly flinched, but otherwise, he seemed unimpressed. "Can you please just stop being a douchey little vampire fag for three seconds?" Pete seethed. "I'm trying to reason with you. I was under the impression that you weren't a _complete_ retard."  
"It's a little hard not to be defensive when I'm sitting across from a person who thinks that being sarcastic and calling me a fag is their way of reasoning with me," Mike replied testily.  
"Fine," Pete acknowledged. "I'll drop the sarcasm if you drop the holier-than-thou bullshit."  
"It would be a little paradoxical to say that sort of phrase, wouldn't it? Considering I'm-"  
"And drop the lame Vampkid bullshit too," Pete interrupted. "I don't freaking care and it has nothing to do with anything."  
"Alright, fine," said Mike sorely. "Consider us at an impasse, per se, as of now."  
"Fine."

Annie made another rotation around the outside tables, and at his request she topped off Pete's mug with fresh coffee. She disappeared before even asking Mike if he wanted anything new, and Mike began sipping his tea even slower.

Again ripping apart little yellow packets and dumping them into his cup, Pete continued. "So what I was thinking was that the Goths and Vampires could agree to split up the times we go to the Village Inn."  
"So that we don't overrun them," Mike clarified. "If there are less of us there at a time, it might not be so obtrusive to them."  
"Right, exactly," said Pete, relieved he had caught on so quickly. "I think we've already established that your types aren't going to be going past midnight-"  
"Most of my minions are in bed by ten o'clock," Mike interjected. "They need to have a full night's rest every night to keep themselves fit and able excel at school the next day."  
"Right, whatever," Pete acknowledged with a dismissive wave. "So we'll say that from like ten at night to six in the morning is our time every day."  
"If you like," Mike said.  
"Then, you guys get the Village Inn on weekdays, after school from like four to ten."

"That sounds fair."  
"And on weekends, you guys can have Village Inn in the morning and the afternoon, and we get it at night," Pete finished. "This way we all get to go to Village Inn and we don't piss them off for crowding it."

"Hmm." Mike was resting his chin in his palm and thoughtfully running his tongue over his fangs as he mulled over Pete's suggestion. "See, this is a very nice plan and all," he professed. "It would have worked perfectly if were still allowed to _visit_ Village Inn, per se."  
"All we have to do is explain to them that we've reached an agreement," Pete insisted. "They'll lift the ban if we promise it's not going to be overrunning with Vampires and Goths every day."  
"That seems unusually auspicious for someone who's supposed to believe that the common people of the world are hopelessly and utterly incompetent."  
Pete scowled. "What, you think collecting signatures is a better idea?" he spat.  
Propping his elbows up on the table, Mike gestured openly towards Pete. "I think they're both good ideas," he articulated. "I just think mine has a more probable success rate than yours, given the current circumstances."  
"I thought we agreed you would pop your inflated ego for a second there, Dracula."  
"I'm not being smug, I'm just being realistic, per se. You're thinking too logically. To you, it's a simple fix: stop the crowding and the Village Inn will allow us in again. But these are adults who are, well, as you put, 'conformist corporate morons.' They'll want some sort of formal apology because they're convinced that it's our fault. Even if it's not," Mike hastened to add as Pete went to cut him off. "-if we are humble and make the gesture to make things 'right' in their eyes and promise to give them business, then they'll let us back in. Mortals like to play little games like this, and if we want our prize back then sometimes you have to play their game."

Mike removed his elbows from the tablet and sat back in his chair again. Holding the saucer near his chin, he tilted the last of his tea into his mouth. "Of course," he added, replacing the cup onto the saucer. "It wouldn't hurt to establish the boundaries you've set forth also, as a precautionary measure. It would keep our kind separate, for one, and that's probably for the best. Not that your company is unpleasant, per se," Mike amended as he contemptuously watched Pete stir another packet full of sugar into his coffee. "But considering our differing beliefs, keeping a distance from each other seems wise."

Pete held his mug in both hands and took deep sips, swirling the excruciatingly sweet coffee around in his mouth before swallowing each time. He was silently contemplating the dilemma, looking into his coffee for advice before every sip as though his answer might suddenly begin floating atop the surface if he watched it hard enough.  
Mike, annoyingly patient, did not press him to respond. He leaned back easily, crossing one leg over the other and absently twirling a lock of lime green hair around his finger.

It wasn't until Pete thumbed a new cigarette out of his pack and lit it that he finally spoke, and as he did, he jabbed the cigarette in the air towards Mike, emphasizing his words. "So let's come to some sort of agreement," he offered.  
Mike nodded "A treaty, per se."  
"We'll adhere to the time blocks I spoke of earlier," Pete said, and as he began speaking the terms, he held up fingers indicative of the number of things they were agreeing to. "Was there any disagreement?"  
"None," Mike said. "Your offer is more than fair and reasonable considering the tendencies of our respective groups, per se."  
"I'll sign your stupid form," Pete continued. "And I'll get Michael, Henrietta, and Ferkle to sign too. If it'll get us Village Inn back I don't think they'll care too much, even if their names are down on a list with a bunch of posers."

Mike held up a hand to stop him. "As an addendum to our agreement, I think it would be kind of you to stop calling my minions things like 'poser,' 'fag,' 'wannabes,' and other similar insults. We're doing no harm to you and you forget that it's because of us you were able to save one of your friends from the emos."  
"Ugh, she wasn't-" Pete just bit his tongue and nodded. "Okay, fine. We'll lay off a bit. A bit. That's all I can promise."  
"Small steps towards progress are better than stagnation, per se," Mike said sagely, and Pete resisted the urge to scoff and roll his eyes. "And if you can promise that your brood will stop being so nasty to my kind and they'll also pledge their names, we'll ensure that when we submit the petition to the Village Inn, the staff are aware that it includes Vampires and Goths equally."  
Solemnly, Pete nodded. "If those are our terms, then we'll agree."  
"Excellent."

Mike reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a few singles, leaving them on the table for Annie. Pete did the same thing and practically dumped the rest of his coffee into his mouth, and then set it down again with clumps of wet, brown granules clinging to the bottom of the cup.

They both stood, and Mike extended a hand. He said, "Vampires are bound by more sacred things than what mortals call a 'promise,' but it's only fair, since you are a mere mortal, to physically acknowledge our agreement."  
Pete gave Mike a completely disbelieving look. "Really?" he scoffed.  
"Yes," Mike confirmed. "For the sake of making peace with one another, per se."  
Mike's hand remained frozen in mid air, reaching towards him, and Pete finally shifted his cigarette to his opposite hand and grabbed it. They shook briefly, both of their grips tight, before letting go.

"I shall see you again soon, my dark brother," said Mike as he put a hand to his chest and bowed his head low. "Be sure to tell all your brethren of our arrangement and I'm sure we'll both be enjoying the fruits of the Village Inn once more."  
"Yeah, yeah," Pete jibed, disinterested.  
"And be advised that our agreement suggests that you should change the contact listing for me in your phone from 'Count Fagula' to 'Vampir', or at the very least, 'Mike.'"  
For the first time, Pete's stern glare suddenly vanished in favor of surprise, but Mike just knowingly tapped the side of his head with a single, slim index finger.  
"A vampire's inner eye knows many things you cannot comprehend," he said mysteriously.  
"_Fine_," Pete sighed shortly, and disgruntled, he pulled out his phone and began searching for the contact.  
"Until we meet again." Pulling his collar high again, Mike suddenly spun on his heel and turned away from Pete, intentionally causing his coat tails to flow behind him dramatically as he made his exit.

Pete finished entering the new name for the contact in his phone, listing him as Mike and noting crossly how he was now directly below Michael.  
He threw his spent cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with the toe of his boot, and then he began winding in between tables full of posers drinking frappucinos and other pussy versions of coffee.  
The others were likely holed up in Henrietta's room, as usual, and it would be a long walk to meet them there.

Pete wondered vaguely if he had done the right thing by offering to cooperate with the enemy, and whether the others might be angry at him for volunteering them without their knowledge.  
But ultimately, he decided he didn't care. He wanted Village Inn back; he missed it. The restaurant was partly home to him for as many hours as he spent sitting in their squishy boots drinking their shitty coffee.  
Sure, Mike's petition was a little juvenile, but it was the closest chance he had of getting Village Inn back, and as far as he was concerned, forming a coalition with the Vampires, even Mike 'Count Fagula' Makowski, was an indecency well worth the price.

Feeling unusually auspicious, as Mike had so aptly put, Pete left the coffeehouse behind him, and began the long trek to Henrietta's with a fresh cigarette perched between his fingers, leaving a wispy trail of smoke behind him.


End file.
